The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2) (55 page)

“Should we try another way?”  Martext said in his ear.

Lundin peered around the statue’s square base.  There was definitely a Great Hall feel to the room below them, with its eight massive pillars, high ceilings, and the grand staircase leading down towards a four-meter wooden door.  Greatsight also told him that there were currently thirty-one soldiers positioned in the hall, with two officers (judging by their brightly colored armbands) and more entering at a rate of two every ten seconds.

He sat back and pressed his back against the cool marble, closing his eyes.  “If I knew another way, I’d say yes.”

“If you’re improvising this whole thing, what’s the harm in looking for another way?  A staircase underground, to another one of those tunnels?”

“But see, right there?  That’s definitely a door to the outside.  And I’m almost definite that it’s on the south side, which is where we want to be.”

“I just want to be home.  I’m serious,” Elia whispered.  “Senior tech, if you can’t promise me that something like this will never happen to us again, I’m going to request a reassignment.”

“Elia, if it meant that this would never happen to me again, I’d request a reassignment out of my own skin.”  Lundin opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.  “But first, we’ve got to find a way out of here.”

“Why don’t we take the side door?”  Elia sniffed.

Lundin froze.  He looked down the hallway.  The flow of soldiers had stopped as the last pair clomped their way down into the Great Hall.  And so a right-hand turn at the intersection would indeed take them directly to a blocky wooden door.  He’d seen and dismissed it earlier; but if the soldiers were done materializing…

“Better than running out down the middle,” Martext shrugged.

“Come on, come on,” Lundin said.  They stood carefully, crouching low as they moved from behind the statue.  Lundin adjusted his pants around his shoulders as best he could, too nervous to feel ridiculous.  There wasn’t anyone else coming down the intersection.  They moved as quickly and quietly as they could down the hall towards the side door, when an all-too-familiar deep voice rang out behind them.

“You!”

Lundin turned.  There, filling the hallway on the far side of the castle, was Sir Ulstead.  His golden eyes were beaming towards them, and he crouched like a wolf ready to pounce.

“Get in there!” Lundin shouted, shoving Martext and Elia forward.  Martext fumbled with the handle and swung the door open.  Lundin looked backwards to see the wolf-headed ‘naut sprinting towards them at unnatural speed.  There was the sound of huge doors opening, and the Great Hall started echoing with gunfire and noise.  Someone was advancing into the castle—Dame Miri and her reinforcements, with any luck. 
Not that it’ll do us any good if Ulstead kills us in a back corner first
, he thought, panting with fear.  He slammed the door shut behind them and took the claustrophobic staircase down two steps at a time after the techs.

They were in a small sculpture gallery, with life-sized marble portraits of men in waistcoats and women in expansive dresses.  The statuary was interspersed with stone boxes of earth, housing meticulously trimmed ornamental shrubs with jade leaves and vibrant flowers.  Sunlight beat into the room from four enormous windows that stretched from waist height on the wall to the midpoint of the curved ceiling.  It was a beautiful, meditative space, which didn’t mean a thing right now.  All that mattered was the door to the outside. The egress was just a few dozen meters ahead, on the western wall.

“There,” Martext said, pointing. 
Already saw it, thanks.
 But Lundin still nodded, redoubling his speed.

His heart sank as the door at the top of the staircase burst open.  “Run, run,” he told Elia as she turned around, her eyes widening.  He refused to look back.

“Senior tech!”  she shouted, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him sideways.  They leapt together onto the flagstone floor, skidding painfully on their shoulders.  The ‘naut crashed to the ground where they had been standing, having taken the entire staircase in a single leap.  Elia scrambled for her pistol and fired, clipping the ‘naut in the shoulder.  The musket ball glanced off Sir Ulstead’s armor and ricocheted upwards, cracking one of the sky-high windows.

Weapon
, Lundin thought frantically.  But there was nothing nearby but earth and twigs, Greatsight told him with heartless accuracy.  The hinges of a door creaked by the western wall. 
As least Martext made it out,
he thought, his breath sounding ragged in his ears.
 
 The wolf-headed ‘naut stepped towards them, his boots echoing against the stone.  No taunts, no threats as he advanced on the transfixed techs. Just the quiet, implacable, businesslike menace of a professional killer.

 Quick footsteps clattered on the flagstones by the outside, and a dark shape came rushing at Ulstead from behind.  “Spheres, Martext, get out of here!”  Lundin screamed.  There was less than nothing the poor tech could do against a monster like this.

But then a basso gunshot rang out, unbearably loud at this close range, and Ulstead toppled sideways, clutching his shoulder.  And then there was a black-armored figure in front of them, his faceplate sharply pointed, steam rising out of his back.  The new figure reached out a hand. 

“Well, well,” Sir Kelley said.

Stunned, Lundin pushed Elia forward.  Kelley pulled her to her feet and steered her towards the far wall.  Bewildered, she looked back, stumbling towards the open door.  “Look out!” she screamed as Sir Ulstead kicked out with tree-trunk legs, clouting Kelley in the side.  The Recon ‘naut spiraled through the air and collided with a statue of a dancing woman, shattering the marble and collapsing behind the statue’s base.

“Elia, run!”  Lundin shouted out, scrambling to his feet.  Greatsight let him see Martext safely outside, staring through the window.  Elia started jogging towards the door, glancing back at the wolf-headed Ulstead’s movements as he stalked across the marble pedestals towards the shattered statue. 
Weapon, weapon, weapon. 
Lundin grasped a fist-sized stone from the garden bed and watched helplessly as it slipped through his fingers, clattering to the flagstones.  He swore at himself, tearing up as he watched Ulstead advance towards Sir Kelley, seeing it all but unable to do anything.

A jagged chunk of marble flashed through the air.  It clipped Sir Ulstead on the outside of his knee, and the huge ‘naut stumbled with the sound of protesting motors.  Sir Kelley launched himself high into the air, his black truncheon in his hands.  Ulstead fell to one knee in the bed of bushes and raised his arm.  His shot flew past Kelley, wide by just a quarter-meter, and the small red projectile struck the ceiling between two windows.  The roof exploded in a shower of stone and glass, pelting the ‘nauts with debris.   The force of the explosion threw Sir Kelley forward, tumbling into the bushes next to Lundin.  He covered his face as twigs and pebbles pelted him from head to toe.

“Spheres, Kelley, are you okay?” Lundin whispered, brushing himself off and crouching next to the planter.

“I hate you,” Sir Kelley said, rolling out of the topiaries.  He shook his wrist, and a new musket ball rolled into place in his arm cannon.  He took aim as Sir Ulstead rose up, slowly, like a giant from the ancient fables, and turned on them with gold eyes blazing.

“Up and right,” Lundin said at Kelley’s shoulder, his eyes widening.

“What?”

“Four centimeters up, three to the right.  Please!”

Ulstead shook his wrist, chambering the next round.  A single red bullet from the big ‘naut’s cannon would mingle their bodies into one cloud of bone, and that was the absolute last way in the world Lundin wanted to die.

Sir Kelley wrestled with something deep inside, his arm raised and pointed at the wolf-headed ‘naut.  Taking in a breath through his helmet, he shifted his arm four centimeters up and three to the right precisely, and clenched his fist.

A sound like tinkling glass rang through the air.

Sir Ulstead froze, his arm drifting down.  One wicked eye was still beaming golden light towards them.  The other was shattered and dark.  The Caravan ‘naut toppled sideways, majestic and ponderous, like a hundred-year oak ripped from its roots.  His body echoed against the tiled floor.

The garden was still, except for the noise of battle in the great hall next door.  Potshots and sniping from the the Caravan side were met with a thunderous outpouring of Delian musket fire in disciplined volleys.  Screams and cries hung chillingly in the air.  The heavy frantic sounds of footsteps in retreat clomped up the great staircase and echoed through the hallways.  For Torvald’s beleaguered garrison, it was only a matter of time.

Sir Kelley lowered his arm.  He looked at Lundin through his sharp, inscrutable visor.  Lundin could see Elia and Martext safely outside, their arms waving in the air as they cheered.  But even with Greatsight, all his attention was on the lean black ‘naut at his side.

“Well?”  Sir Kelley said, his voice harsh and mechanical through the suit.

Lundin wet his lips.  “Sir?”

“Do I get a ‘thank you’ for saving your miserable life?”

He blinked.  The sunlight was streaming through the broken ceiling, shattering into rainbows against the fragments of glass.

“Thank you for saving my miserable life, Sir Kelley,” he said quietly.

Kelley looked at him through his helmet.  The senior ‘naut stood, grunting with pain, and dusted the dirt off his armor.  He rapped Lundin on the head painfully with his metal knuckles.  “That’s a start,” he said, loping towards the door.

Lundin pushed himself to his feet.  Rubbing his head, he followed his former boss out into the sunlight.

Epilogue

Iimar’s golden robes were torn and muddied.  His handsome face was wet with tears.  “We are undone,” he said again.

Dame Hanah watched the shifting lantern light as it cast shadows on the inner walls of her tent.  The wizard and his honor guard had caught up with them after sprinting through the woodlands for hours.  A waterskin set out for Iimar was still untouched.  In his agitated state, convincing him to sit down had been ordeal enough.

She leaned forward on her stool.  “You’re certain, then, that Torvald has been taken.”

“We stayed near the keep as long as we dared.  We heard every last shot until we could bear no more.”

“Was Torvald taken?”

“He may have been butchered, for all I know!  Spheres forgive me.  I left him in alone that room.  I doubt he even moved to defend himself.”

“Agreed,” Hanah said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her cheek.  “Why would he?”

The wizard gaped at her.  “Surrounded by his enemies, and the dishonor of certain capture?  Why would he not?”

“What did he say to you, before he sent you on?”

“He must have been raving.  The attack was Providence; this was his path to the Throne; I was to tell you what he’d done.

“Dame Hanah?”  Iimar the Enchanter looked at her, perplexed, as she pushed herself to her feet.

“To strike a blow takes bravery.  To open yourself up to one takes true courage,” she said, a sad, proud light in her hazel eyes.  “What a King he will be.”

“Only if we rescue him first,” Iimar said, exasperated.

“The handsome, well-loved heir is robbed of his succession by archaic rules and power-hungry Regents.  He is forced into exile.  When he dares to spread charity to the common people through his Golden Caravan, the Regents storm his castle, slaughter his followers, and haul him away in chains.

“Can you bear the thought of such a man tossed into the dungeons, or strung up on the gallows?”

“No, by the Spheres!  Of course not!”

“Then you’ll dedicate your every breath to seeing him free again?”

“Yes!”

The wizard was on his feet, pressing himself close to Dame Hanah’s face, his eyes alight with desperate conviction.  She looked at him, her silver hair twinkling in the lantern-light.

“So will everyone else who hears the story,” she said with a smile.

*****

“The burning King of Delia, huh?”  Samanthi rested her arms against the wall of Fort Campos and looked out towards the sunset.  The northwestern corner was supposed to have the best view of the fading star; and it was magnificent, as long as you didn’t look down at the masonry, which had taken some serious shelling in the attack a week earlier and had yet to be fully repaired.

Lundin rubbed his arms, nodding.  “He’s got an army out there.  Old Delians.  Svargath.”

“He’s got normal idiots on his side too,” she said, sighing.  “That’s what worries me most.  Eventually, a bad guy runs out of soldiers.  But idiots just keep growing back.”

“Yeah.”

A breeze blew past.  It was Auloi now; the summer was moving on towards fall, and the evening winds weren’t as warm as they used to be.

“How’s your squad?”  Samanthi asked, a little too loud, staring out into the trees.

Lundin sighed.  “Well, Willl with three L’s is long gone; north with the other rebels, as far as we can figure.  Dame Miri is fine, no matter what you throw at her.  I think Elia is still asleep in our old loft.  And I can never figure out Martext—”

“You like them?”

“I.”  He rubbed his hands against each other.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I’m their senior tech.  I may not deserve to be, but I am.  And so the least I can do is to like them.”

“Spheres, Lundin, don’t be so effusive.”

“No, I do.  I do like them.”

Samanthi turned to him.  Her brown eyes were bright with a dozen different things.  “You ever miss the Recon squad?” she asked.

He looked back at her.  The sun was setting crimson and gold through the trees behind her.

“Absolutely,” he said, quietly.

Samanthi nodded.  She looked to the side, developing a sudden interest in the turrets to the south.

“It’s just that.  Scuttlebutt is, the Board of Governors might want to expand the mechanized wizardry project, seeing as Torvald’s army cares about it so much.  They might even want to make it its own squad.”